Not a weight like after running a marathon, or a weight from mental exhaustion after hours in front of a screen. This was a different weight—a mass pressing down on every inch of her existence, filling the spaces between her bones with a density that was not her own. Mara opened her eyes, and the pulsating purple sky greeted her like a cosmic insult. She moved her hand—or tried to. There was a terrible pause between the command from her mind and the response from the limb that should be obedient. The fingers moved, but their movement was too smooth, too precise, like a machine just powered on after centuries of sleep.
This was not her hand.
Her skin was porcelain white, too perfect, without a mole or small scar from her previous life. Her nails were long, pointed, and jet black like the obsidian beneath her. She was wearing a gleaming black cloth glove, embroidered with silver thread forming intricate patterns. Art and anatomy merged into a dreadful fashion statement.
This is a dream. This must be a very, very weird nightmare. I just deleted my character, I'm stressed, and now my brain is punishing me with this.
She sat up—or this body pushed her to sit up—from an uncomfortable lying position on the giant obsidian throne. Her joints did not crack. No morning stiffness. Only a fluidity that made her increasingly nauseous. She felt something on her head, a strange pressure at her temples. The foreign hand lifted, touching two hard, smooth, and warm protrusions curving backward from her skull.
Horns.
Horns. I have horns. Why? How?
She tried to take a deep breath, but this chest did not move as usual. She registered air entering, but the process was automatic, efficient, like a ventilation system working perfectly. No feeling of relief. No biological satisfaction.
Calm down, Mara. Analyze. You're in Aeternum. But not in your elf body. You're in… where?
She turned her head—a graceful and controlled movement, not a panicked jerk—and gazed around. Giant obsidian hall. Pillars like giant bones soaring through the invisible ceiling. The floor black, reflecting the purple sky's light with an oily sheen. And in the middle, a giant mirror—a panel of perfectly polished obsidian—stood like a door to an unwanted truth.
Must look. Must know.
Her legs—encased in thigh-high boots made of the same dark, gleaming material as her gown—stepped onto the floor. She stood up. This body straightened easily, perfectly balanced, as if gravity was a suggestion that could be ignored. She walked down the wide steps from the throne platform. Each step crunched on the obsidian, and its sound echoed, reverberating many times before disappearing into a greater silence. The sound itself felt foreign. Her boots didn't sound like ordinary shoes; they sounded like a knife being sharpened on stone.
She arrived in front of the mirror. It was three times her height. And in it, a figure was reflected.
Not Mara Vex, the silver-haired elf healer with tired green eyes.
This was a woman with skin pale like a dead moon, long silver hair like a waterfall falling to her waist, and ruby red eyes glowing with an inner light from their own source. Her face was beautiful—too beautiful, with a sharp jawline, dark red lips, and a gaze that even in panic looked cold and distant. Two small black horns grew from her temples, elegant and terrifying, like a graceful demon's crown. Behind her, from her back, a pair of black wings drooped—wings like a bat's but with a structure more like a drake's wings, their folds like a cloak made of pure darkness.
Mara knew this face. From the wiki. From the trailer. From hundreds of raid guide videos she watched hoping to one day join a party strong enough to face her.
Nyxaria.
The Dark Demon Queen.
Final raid boss level 999.
An entity that should only be a collection of code, a limited AI activated only during special world events.
No.
She raised her hand, and the figure in the mirror did the same. Those pale fingers touched the icy obsidian surface. She saw her lips—Nyxaria's lips—move.
"Impossible," the voice came out, and it was not her voice. It was deep, resonant, full of unintentional authority. It filled the room, lending weight to every word. "This is impossible."
That's my voice? Whose voice is that?
"Voice… whose?" she tried to whisper, and the whisper sounded like muffled thunder.
Panic began to creep in, a hot sensation wanting to explode from her stomach, rise to her throat, and scream. But this body rejected it. She did not tremble. Her breath remained regular. Her heart—if she still had a heart—beat with a steady, cold rhythm. There was a terrible separation between her self that wanted to scream, collapse, and cry, and this physical vessel that only stood upright, staring with unblinking red eyes.
This is Nyxaria's body. I… I am inside Nyxaria. But that's impossible. I deleted my character. I logged out. I…
Her memory spun: fire arrow, Draven, the 47th death, character deletion menu, progress bar, monitor turning off, emptiness, then sleep. And then this.
Isekai? But… into the game? Into a raid boss's body? This is a cruel joke. What system would do this?
As a gamer with eight thousand hours of experience, her instincts flared. She tried to access the menu. In Aeternum Online, there would be a logout button, settings menu, inventory, skill tree. She focused, thinking of the command.
Logout.
Nothing happened.
System menu.
A transparent window, framed in dark purple light, appeared in her field of view. It was not like the game UI she knew—no colorful icons, no friendly buttons. It was simple, elegant, and cold. The text was white, with a blood-red title.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
[THE INTERFACE]
Name: Nyxaria
Title: Dark Demon Queen
Level: 999
Core Statistics:
STR: 9,999
INT: 12,500
VIT: 8,800
AGI: 7,200
CHA: 9,500
LUK: 3
Status: Active
Affiliation: Catastrophe Class (New)
Region: Obsidian Sanctuary (Bound)
Mara froze. Those numbers made no sense. The maximum level in Aeternum was 100. Here it said 999. The stats… STR almost ten thousand? INT twelve thousand five hundred? That exceeded anything she had ever seen, even in mythic gear. And LUK 3. The cursed stat. A bitter joke that kept following her, even inside a demon god's body.
This is not a game UI. It's… more than that. It looks like a military report. Or a verdict.
She tried to explore further. Her mind touched the options. There was no "Logout" tab. No "Account Settings". No "Contact GM". What existed were sub-menus: Status, Abilities, Inventory, Region, Authority Log. She opened Abilities. The list that appeared made her dizzy. Hundreds of entries, grouped in unfamiliar categories: Authority, Combat, Tactical, Support, Defense. Their names were in English, exactly like in the game:
[Death’s Embrace] [Shadow Step] [Soul Bind], [World Edit: Corruption]. The cooldowns listed were not in seconds or minutes, but in hours. [Death’s Embrace]: Cooldown 10 hours. That was the boss raid ultimate ability, an absolute execution domain that could erase an area from the map.
These are Nyxaria's skills. All of them. And I have access to all of them. But… how to use them? Is it enough to think about them?
Mara closed the window with a growing feeling of nausea. This body showed no physical signs of her panic, but inside, Mara felt trapped in a steel dome moving on its own. She tried to move her finger again, this time deliberately, commanding each joint. The fingers clenched, then opened. Good. She could control them. But it felt like driving a very large and powerful vehicle—every movement felt like it contained a potential for destruction that needed to be controlled.
Okay. Okay. So, I am Nyxaria. I am trapped here. The Aeternum world has become real. Or am I trapped inside a very advanced simulation? No, it feels too real. The cold of this obsidian… the smells…
Mara sniffed the air again. The smell of sulfur, old metal, and something sweet like rotting meat. The characteristic smell of the demon region in the game. But here, the smell was piercing, real, and made her tongue taste metallic.
Then… if this is real, and I am Nyxaria, level 999… what are the consequences?
As a player, she knew the lore. Nyxaria was a catastrophe entity, a walking disaster destined to be resurrected and then defeated by heroes to save the world. But in the lore, Nyxaria was an NPC, a script. She had no will. Now, she did. And the system—whatever it was—seemed to have already categorized her as a "Catastrophe Class Catastrophe".
So, the world will consider me a threat. They will come. Players. NPCs. Everyone.
That thought made her want to laugh hysterically. From a spawn-killing victim for months, suddenly becoming the final boss feared by the entire server. The irony was so thick she could pour it into a glass.
Suddenly, a new notification appeared in her field of view, not from [THE INTERFACE], but from something broader, deeper. The text was gold, with a slowly pulsating border.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
[Event Classification: Catastrophe Entity Activation
Entity: Nyxaria — Dark Demon Queen
Status: From "Sleeping Entity" to "Active Catastrophe Class Threat" World Response Initiated.]
Then the notification disappeared, leaving a silence that suddenly felt heavier. The air in the hall changed. The pressure increased, as if the invisible ceiling had lowered several meters. The purple light from the sky above—if it was a sky—pulsed faster, its spiral pattern spinning as if processing information.
World Response? What does it mean? Will monsters appear? Will quests automatically issue to all players? "Kill the newly awakened Demon Queen"?
She turned her body, her eyes sweeping the vast empty hall. No physical change. Only the atmosphere had changed. But the change was palpable, like a temperature change before a storm.
Must get out of here. Must find out more. But how? Where is the door?
This hall seemed to have no doors or windows. Only pillars and plain obsidian walls. But as a former player, she knew dungeon boss raids usually had certain mechanisms. There might be an altar, or a hidden button, or…
She traversed the wall, her hand touching the cold, smooth surface. The obsidian had no imperfections. No gaps. She walked almost a hundred meters before finding something different: a faint carving on the wall, the same geometric pattern as the one on the floor in the center of the hall. Concentric circles with symbols she did not understand.
A summoning ritual symbol. To summon Nyxaria. But I am already here. What's the point?
Mara pressed her hand against the carving. Nothing happened. She tried pushing and pulling. Nothing.
Maybe it needs activation with a skill? Or… maybe it's just decoration. Frustration began to gnaw at the artificial calm of this body. She wanted to strike the wall, but the worry that one punch from STR 9,999 could collapse the entire place stopped her. She didn't know her strength. She didn't know her limits. That was dangerous.
Calm down. Think like a game. You're at the boss spawn point. Usually, the boss can't leave the arena until provoked or a certain event occurs. But… I'm not a normal boss. I have consciousness. I can choose.
She returned to the center of the hall, under the pulsating purple sky. She looked at her magnificent and empty throne. It was a symbol of power she did not want. A power now forced upon her.
If I can't leave through a door… try a skill. [Shadow Step]. Teleportation. Its description: "to a location previously visited or existentially marked." I haven't been anywhere besides here. But… maybe outside? Try.
She focused on the skill name in her mind. [Shadow Step]. Nothing happened. She tried to imagine herself outside the hall, beyond the wall. Still nothing.
Maybe a gesture is needed? Or a verbal command?
Mara took a breath—a purposeless motion from a body that didn't need it—and uttered in her resonant voice, "[Shadow Step]."
Instantly, the world around her turned into gray mist. She did not feel movement, only a gentle shift of reality. Then the mist disappeared, and she stood in the same spot. No movement.
Cooldown? No, its cooldown is 5 minutes. It should work. Unless… there's a barrier. Or I haven't "marked" any location.
The skill is useless for now. She sighed again—her old meaningless habit—and sat on the lowest step of the throne. The weight of the wings on her back felt strange, like carrying a heavy backpack that had become part of her. She tried to move them. The black wings quivered, then partially spread with a sound of fine leather scraping. She pulled them back, and they folded neatly on her back. At least she could control them.
So, what now? Wait? Until someone comes? "World Response" probably means something will come. But who?
As a player who had studied the Nyxaria raid, she knew the raid began when heroes entered the Obsidian Sanctuary through the main gate, facing various traps and mini-bosses before reaching this throne hall. But in the game, Nyxaria was not active until the party reached the arena. Now, she is active. And she is in the arena.
They will come. Raid players. They will think I'm just an NPC, a boss to be defeated. They will attack.
That thought made her chest tight—an emotional tightness, because this body showed no physical signs. She remembered the panic of being a healer in a raid, when the tank almost died, when DPS failed to avoid area attacks. But on the other side, she also remembered the joy of success, when loot was obtained, when the boss finally fell.
Now, she is that boss.
And the players who come… could be anyone. Could be a guild like Crimson Crusaders. Could be Draven and his friends.
A spark of cold fire ignited inside her. The long-suppressed anger, the injustice she had swallowed for months, the bitterness from forty-seven helpless deaths—all boiled in a new vessel full of unimaginable power.
If they come… if Draven comes…
But then, a more primal fear emerged. Yes, she had terrifying stats. But she didn't know how to fight. She was a healer. Her theoretical knowledge of boss mechanics was not the same as the ability to wield this body. What if she loses? What if they kill her? In this real world, would death mean… truly die?
[System Feedback: Threat Detected at Region Border.]
The notification appeared suddenly, cold and informative.
Mara stood up quickly. Her eyes stared in the direction she felt was "forward"—toward the wall opposite the throne. Nothing changed visually. But she could feel it. A faint vibration in the floor. Then a sound.
A low rumbling sound, like a large stone shifting.